


You Wear It Well

by WillowEdmond



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Creepy, Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowEdmond/pseuds/WillowEdmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kane gets a new suit... that isn't quite what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wear It Well

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote to go along with United We Stand. I gave Kane a new costume in the story, and I wanted to write a story about how he got the suit. This is what came out. 
> 
> This story is done entirely Kayfabe.

If there was one perk to being Director of Operations, it was that Kane had his own private, abet makeshift office in the back of every arena. And while normally, this perk meant very little to him, on this particular night, it meant a lot, and it was with a sigh of relief that he entered it, and slammed the door behind him, making sure it was locked as he did it. If anyone knocked, he didn't care. He would not answer it. Let them think it was empty, that was fine with him. He didn't want anyone bothering him now. _Anyone._

What had started out to be a great night had turned to shit, and Kane was far from happy. He had been close, _so_ close to seeing that little slack-jaw weasel, Seth, get what was coming to him. J &J, and Rhyno had been giving him the beat down, using the chairs that Kane had handed to them, and Kevin was getting ready to deliver the final blow, the _killing_ blow, using a sledge hammer. Kane thought that was a nice touch. Seth had gotten the Pedigree from Daddy Hunter, but Kevin, the new and now favorite son would get the sledgehammer. It was symbolic and beautiful. And if things had worked out, the first thing Kevin would do with that gift from Daddy was to destroy the former favorite. Kane had been watching on the sidelines, enjoying himself, appreciating the delicious biblical justice of the situation, waiting for that blow to render Seth Rollins gone forever. Anticipating the blood, the gore, none of it PG, none of it appropriate, but who cared?

Then those two... goodie-two-shoes little _punks_ had to rescue Seth. Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose. _Had_ to get in that ring, Roman Reigns with that ridiculous flowing mane of his, taking that sledgehammer from Kevin Owen's and pushing it into his throat, while Dean dispatched Rhyno, then Seth got his second wind, no doubt because of something sappy and lame like the power of brotherhood, and managed to throw J &J out of the ring. Damn it, if only they had been a few seconds later, it would have been all over. And instead of Roman, Dean, and Seth, being in triumph, Kane would have had the joy of seeing Crazy Cakes and I'm-Too-Sexy-In-My-Vest sobbing over the corpse of their former brother.

It would have been more than sweet, it would have been a moment to savor like a glass of fine wine, instead, Kane felt as if he'd gotten a shot of vinegar with a lemon juice chaser. He wanted to be angry, he _should_ be angry, he should be furious.

Instead, he was just bitterly disappointed, which was sadly becoming the story of his life.

He made his way over to the desk and sat down. He felt a headache coming on, and rested his head in his right hand, rubbing his thumb and index finger across his forehead, hoping it would help. He had aspirin in his luggage, but that was across the room and right now, the walk just seemed too far away.

“You're pathetic.”

He recognized the voice, of _course_ he did. Nor did he hear the door open or see the light from the hallway streaming in. Yet, he wasn't at all surprised at who was in the room with him now, making his accusation in his guttural voice. “Hello, Brother.”

“Don't call me that,” his brother said. “You no longer have that right.”

“Really?” Kane gave a short, almost barking laugh. “All those memories we share and I'm no longer allowed to consider you my brother? That hurts.”

“Sarcasm doesn't suit you, especially now.”

Kane drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, still not looking at his visitor, he knew what the Undertaker looked like. "Why are you here?" he asked instead, "Lesnar isn't here, there isn't anyone else your currently peeved at, I mean, besides me and that isn't exactly part of the show now, is it?"

"You don't want me to visit? See how you're doing? That cuts deep."

Now Kane looked up at his brother and wasn't surprised to see he looked fine, great even. All signs of old age that he usually showed to the world were gone. This was not the Undertaker that faced Brock Lesnar or Bray Wyatt, or even the one that faced Punk and Hunter. This Undertaker looked as fit as he did the first day he entered a ring. Tall and muscular, nothing sagging, nothing wrinkled. He didn't look young, he didn't look old, he looked ageless. Which of course, was not surprising, immortality had a tendency to do that to a guy. "Again, 'Taker, since you're still calling yourself that, these days, what do you want?"

"I'm still Undertaker," At that, he chuckled, "At least when I'm here. Other places? It depends."

"Did you come here to brag?" It took everything Kane had to stay in the chair, not rise up so he was at eye level with the Undertaker. Every part of him itched to do that, but he knew that if he did, Undertaker would know his motives, know that despite his words, Kane was nervous. "I get it, you're awesome, I suck. Next?"

“Defiant to the end,” that earned Kane another chuckle, although Kane could have done without that reward. “Then again, you always were different.”

“I assume by different, you mean less of an asshole?” Kane asked with a forced grin.

This earned him a laugh, but Kane had the feeling he was being laughed at, rather than with. “You never appreciated what you had, what you were," Undertaker pointed out, "Oh sure, you claimed to revel in the power, and maybe there were times you did, but too many times? You were weak.”

“Yep, you are here to brag,” Kane said. He went back to rubbing his forehead, refusing to look at Taker. He's probably right, but I'll be dipped in it if I'm going to admit it. “You're having to look old lately,” he said, deliberately changing the subject, “Isn't it getting time to move on?”

“I've still got a few years for this identity,” Undertaker said. “It's suiting me for now.”

“I thought you were going to give it up a couple years ago,” Kane said. “You really looked like shit. Rumors were you had been hit by the cancer stick.”

“Thanks,” Just by the tone of his voice, even though he wasn't even looking at him, Kane knew Undertaker was smiling. "I think I mastered that pretty well, don't you?"

"Wonderful," Kane muttered. "So, what changed your mind?"

"I like the fame, I like the recognition," Undertaker admitted. "When I start over, I have to start at the bottom and I'm not ready for that."

"Too bad," Kane mumbled. Of course, it didn't matter. No matter who Undertaker chose to be next, what identity he made for himself, he would find him if he wanted to. It was Kane's blessing, and curse. Of course, now though, it wouldn't matter. Maybe Undertaker would find him in his next identity, but not in the one after that. Kane wouldn't be around for that one.

"Maybe next time I'll be a woman," Undertaker mused, as casually as if he were deciding what type of beer to order with his dinner.

Now Kane could honestly laugh at him, which he did, with a feeling as close to joy as he could summon, considering the last few weeks. He looked at him, letting his brother see that his mocking of him wasn't fake. "You're not going to be a woman," he said, scornfully, "Things have improved, but not _that_ much. You haven't chosen the form of a female since the days of the Matriarch. You would _never_ be happy as a second class citizen."

"True," Undertaker admitted. "So unlike you. Tell me, brother, did you enjoy escaping from Egypt with your people? How about watching your tribe die of smallpox from the very blankets my people traded them? Did you enjoy picking cotton for hours under the grueling sun and being beaten for your troubles? Was that fun for you?"

Kane scowled. "I had my reasons."

"And what were those, Kane?" Undertaker asked. "Enlighten me, please, this should be amusing."

"The suffering," Kane said, but he knew as he said it, the words sounded too rehearsed, exactly as they were, words meant to be trotted out to cover the truth. "I enjoyed seeing the suffering." _Yeah, like repeating them will make them sound less wrong_.

"Bullshit." His brother saw through that, he always had. "You could have enjoyed that suffering just as much, if not more, from the other side. From being the one who sent the army to bring you back, from being the one who held the whip instead of received the lashings. You didn't just want to _see_ the suffering, you wanted to _feel_ it. Not as an observer, but to be part of it. Why? That isn't our job."

"I had my reasons!" Kane barked, much louder than he intended. The last thing he wanted was for 'Taker to see him rattled, but that was almost always the goal, don't let his brother see him upset and worst part was that it rarely worked. His brother was born to rattle him. "I don't ask your motives for what you choose to do!"

"Mine are obvious," 'Taker said. "Power. I can't rule the world, at least not yet, but I get more powerful with each passing year. Unlike you."

_Of course he'll find a way to twist it back on me_ , Kane thought bitterly. "I made, what I thought was the best choice at the time." He hoped he sounded dignified, but he doubted it.

"The best choice?" Undertaker's voice was tinged in disbelief as he laughed. "You gave it all up. You gave up all of your power, for _what?_ The chance to grow old? To _die?_ To be as meaningless as the rest of the mortals on this planet? They are meant to be our... _playthings_ , and you decided you wanted to become _one_ of them. And what did you get for your trouble, Kane? You can't even say you got more in this company. You were once the Devil's favorite Demon, now you're a joke. You went from the Brothers of Destruction, a team that struck fear into the hearts of everyone who faced them, into a member of team Hell No, where you hugged it out with a goat faced little runt."

“People _liked_ that whole Anger Management thing,” Kane shot back before he could think. “And Daniel is a good man.”

"Do you _hear_ yourself?” 'Taker asked back, his voice rising in volume, " _He's a good man_. Who _cares?_ You're a good man now, and what has that gotten you? Again, you went from being powerful to... _this!"_ He motioned to Kane with a wave of his hand, indicating not only him, but the suit he wore, the cheap desk in the tiny makeshift office. “Really, brother, is it worth it?”

Kane stared down at the fake wood grain and said nothing. What could he say? The Undertaker would never understand, he never did understand. Hell, Kane wasn't even sure if _he_ understood anymore. Besides, he knew that his brother still had more to say, and he didn't require response from Kane to keep saying it.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Taker said, his voice lowering slightly. “You _do_ have regrets. Maybe not for your friendship with Goat boy and the other ridiculous things you've had to do since you became one of them. But tonight? You showed balls. Seth Rollins has been a thorn in your side for ages, and tonight, you showed you weren't going to take it anymore. And you would have done it too, if those stupid little fleas he calls friends hadn't interfered. And all you could do is stand by powerless to stop him. A few years ago, you wouldn't have needed those other fleas to help you out, you would have been able to destroy Seth all by yourself.”

“Don't remind me,” Kane muttered before he could stop himself. He found his fist clenching and he knew he was getting angry. Not at his brother, not at his insults, but at the fact that he was right. Most of the time, Kane fooled himself, telling himself that he had made the right choice, but all it took was a night like tonight to make him realize how much he'd given up, how much it sucked getting less powerful with age, rather than more.

“I think you do need reminding,” Undertaker said. “Because I don't think you're happy anymore, brother. I think you miss the power, I think you miss the days when you were above them, not one of them.”

“Well, it's not like I can _do_ anything about that!” Kane said, louder than he intended. He meant to sound matter-of-fact, instead, he knew he sounded angry. _You're playing into his hands_ , he told himself, but part of him, most of him, didn't want to listen to that side of himself. His brother was right, he _was_ growing weary of all of this, all the weaknesses and failings of being mortal. There was a time when he envied these beings, their short times, their way of trying to make the most of what little time they had. It was in one of those moments of weakness that he gave it all up, all his power and traded it to be one of them.

“What if there was?”

For a moment Kane heard the words, but didn't register them. Then, when they finally did register, he stared at his brother, waiting for the other shoe to drop, the laughter, the smirk, something that would indicate that the Undertaker was messing with his head.

“Well?” Taker stared back at him, his expression serious, “Have you grown deaf?”

Kane answered his question with one of his own, “are you _fucking_ with me?”

“I noticed you asked, not assumed,” Undertaker said. “That tells me you're interested. Be truthful brother, you grow weary of this, don't you? As the years pass, and your body gets older, and you feel the bones ache, you find yourself regretting your choice. And now, with that upstart pup making your life a living Hell, you long for those days when the power of destruction was at your fingertips. What you did tonight? You tried to get others to do the work _you_ should have been doing.”

“Maybe, just maybe you're right.” The admitting was less hard than Kane thought it would be. I am sick of this. Maybe it's been building longer than I thought. Maybe tonight wasn't the start of it, maybe it was just the final straw. “What can be done? Giving up my power for mortality isn't something you get to do more than once.”

“Again, what if there was a way?” Undertaker leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk, and stared down at him. This time, Kane did not look away, he stared right back at him. “Would you take it?”

“There is no-” Kane began.

“-Would you take it!” Undertaker interrupted, his voice booming in the small room.

_He's messing with me,_ Kane thought. _I know he is!_ Still, he found himself answering, almost as if compelled. “Yes!”

“Would you give up _everything_ to have the power back again? Give up this...humanity you cling to, like a wasted shell?”

Again, the answer leaped from inside of him, tumbling into the room. “Yes!”

Undertaker removed his hands from the desk and stood up straight. He smiled at Kane, and the smile wasn't unkind. “Thine will be done, little brother,” he said, his voice softer now, “Thine will be done.”

Kane waited for a moment, seeing if he would feel the power rushing back into him, if he truly was to be granted forgiveness for his transgression. He sure felt the power drain from him when he renounced his heritage, should he feel it returning when he went to embrace it again? He looked at his brother. "Is... is that all?"

Undertaker shook his head and walked over to the couch where there was something lying on the cushions, something Kane hadn't noticed before, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn't been looking at the couch, for all he knew, it had been there since he walked into the room. "There are... _sacrifices,_ of course," Undertaker said, his voice calm. "You know it can't be like it was before. You gave up your immortality, you gave up your power. You are being given a second chance, but it can't be the same." He picked up the object on the couch and returned, holding it in his arms. "For you."

It was a pile of cloth, very neatly folded, very small. Kane stared at it. "Is this some demonic infused pillowcase?" he asked, knowing he sounded sarcastic, but at that moment, not caring. This wasn't exactly what he hoped for.

"No, it's a costume," Undertaker said, looking upward and shaking his head. "Did you really think you would just get your power back? That what you have done could be undone so easily? Take it, brother."

Kane accepted the bundle given to him, noting it barely weighed anything. He held it for a minute or so, staring down at it. For some reason, it felt...warm. Not like it had been sitting on a heater, although the arena was air conditioned, but warm as if it was designed to always be warm. Great, a costume that is warm, that'll be good when I'm out under those hot lights. "Is this the only time I'll have the power?" Kane asked, "When I wear the suit?"

"For now," The corners of Undertaker's mouth twitched in the faintest smile that was gone almost as soon as it happened. “Try it on, brother, feel the power, flowing through you again.”

“Will it fit?” Kane asked, staring down again at the tiny amount of material he was holding in his arms. Part of him swore he could feel it moving on his arm, but maybe that was him shaking a little bit.

“Of course it will.”

Kane shrugged. He wasn't too sure about this, only having power by wearing some enchanted suit, but then again, it could have its advantages. This might be a chance to have the best of both worlds, the power when he wanted it, the humanity when he didn't. He peeled off his suit jacket and tossed it on the couch.

As he stripped down, Undertaker stood there, looking away from him, the old locker room etiquette, in the case of forced intimacy, you learned to give privacy by where you looked, or _didn't_ look. The irony being that over the thousands of years they had called this planet their home, they had spend almost as much time together in various stages of undress as they had spent dressed. But in this round, in these identities, they followed the rules of politeness.

As Kane held up the suit, he was convinced there was no way it would fit, as it looked to be designed as an outfit for someone more of El Torito's size. It didn't feel like there was elastic in it, but then again, he knew the suit wasn't anything found in this world. But it didn't feel like any material he had ever felt before. The closest he could think was silk, but that didn't quite cover it. It was black, not a normal black, but black as ink, so black that it almost seemed to absorb light and reflect it back in an inky glow.

He stroked the suit for a moment, trying to figure out what it felt like.

_Skin._

The word entered his mind, clear and focused, but he tried to dismiss it. Skin? No, it was too silky, too smooth for skin. Skin had a texture and this seemed almost void of texture.

_Infant skin._

He almost dropped it, as the thought entered his mind. He tried to push it out, but it was in there, taking hold. _Infant skin_. Not human infant, but some creature, the likes of which no one had ever seen before in this world at least. He stared at the costume and bit his lip.

“Are you going to put it on?” Undertaker asked, sounding slightly irritated. “Or just stare at it?”

Kane shot him a look, but said nothing.

“There's nothing to be afraid of.”

Again, that earned the Undertaker another look, but no words. _Is he right?_ Kane though. _Am I afraid?_

The suit was different from the other costumes he had worn. It was a one piece, but it had long sleeves. There also seemed to be no opening in it but the leg and arm holes and the neck. There was another, even tinier bit of cloth, seeming to be made of the same material that he had put on the desk, the mask.

Kane swallowed hard and grabbed on to the neck of the costume, opening it as far as he could. Part of him expected to be unable to open it wide enough to get into it, or that the material would rip, but instead it opened enough for him to get his legs into it, seeming to expand as he put it on. There was no struggling to slide it up over his legs, his torso, no difficulty getting his arms to fit inside. It didn't feel as if he were stretching it to fit him, it felt more like the suit was growing to encase him. He swore he could feel it moving on him, getting bigger and bigger to fit his tall frame.

“What is this?” Kane asked, as he put his arm through the last sleeve. He didn't even have to adjust this costume, no shifting, no grabbing the end of a sleeve and moving it to fit correctly.

“A costume,” Undertaker said, “But one that is... _special.”_

The warmth Kane noticed coming from the suit ealier was still there, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was like it was his exact body temperature, or had adjusted instantly to be his body temperature. With the last sleeve on, he stood up straight.

It was the most comfortable thing he had ever worn in his life. He stood there for a moment, just appreciating the comfort of it, and how it fit so perfectly, how it felt like he wasn't even wearing anything. _If everyone could have one of these, no one would ever wear anything else!_

Undertaker leaned over and picked up the other piece of cloth on the desk. “Now, the mask.” He handed it to him.

Kane took it, but he merely held it in his hand. “It's comfortable,” he admitted. “But I don't feel like I'm gaining any power from it.”

“The outfit isn't complete,” Undertaker said, looking at the mask and then up to Kane's eyes.

Kane picked up the mask. It had that exact same texture and feeling the rest of the costume did. Infant skin. He wished he could shake that thought, because it was disturbing, but he couldn't. He couldn't get over the feeling that this suit was some type of life form, and a young one at that. He studied the mask, noting it had an opening for the eyes, but none for the nose and mouth. "Am I going to be able to breathe in this?"

"You'll be just fine," Undertaker said. "Put it on."

Kane wanted to come up with an excuse, but none would come to him. If he said he would do it later, his brother would ask, why. Trying not to look too hesitant, he slid it over his head.

The mask slid over his scalp, down over his face easily as the suit had fit over his body. The eye holes lined up perfectly and he was not surprised. He looked out at his brother and nodded. noting that he could see perfectly. As someone who had worn a mask a lot in his existence, he knew that no matter how well they were made, masks at least affected your peripheral vision, the material at the sides, drawing your gaze whether you wanted it to or not. This mask did not, this mask might as well have been painted on. "Very nice," he whispered, his voice sounding muffled because his mouth and nose was covered.

Those were the last words he spoke.

Barely had the air needed to say them had finished leaving his lungs, the costume moved, shifted, slid about him. The earlier feeling that it didn't expand to fit him, but grew instead intensified. He felt it sliding into his mouth, down his throat, up his nostrils, like some liquid wax, like a second skin, no not like skin, like something alive, like a leach, like a-

_Parasite!_

His eyes went wide, and he gasped, but no sound came out, not even the noise of air leaving his lungs as whatever made up this costume flowed into him, through him.

"Don't be afraid," His brother ordered him, which only served to make him terrified. "It will be over soon."

Kane wished he could cry out, wished he could scream, but the costume had taken that away from him. Instead, he did the only thing he could do, he tried to pull it off. He grabbed at it, attempting to pull it away from his skin, not caring if he ripped it, actually hoping he'd rip it. Whatever the suit was made of, it did not pull away, it stayed right on him like a second skin.

_Like my only skin!_

He doubled his efforts now, frantic to get it off of him, digging his fingers into his arms, drawing blood, that fell onto the inky blackness like red paint. _No!_ he thought, _No, no, no, no!_ Like a chant, the word played in his mind. He wanted to scream it, No! over and over again, but whatever this suit was, and now he knew why it felt like infant skin, because it _was_ an infant, and it was _alive,_ it had attached itself to him, and he wasn't even sure he had skin under it anymore, if it wasn't instead just the suit holding him inside of it.

Now he began to feel the power, flowing through him, flowing inside of him. Aches and pains from his past injuries were disappearing, being replaced with the feeling he'd known most of his life, like his body was perfect and nothing could harm it, at least not for long. The feeling of rising strength grew in him and he decided to make one last effort. He tried to rip the mask off, but it was useless. His fingers dug into the mask, trying to pull it away from him, but just like the suit, all he managed to do was to make bloody claw marks.

And his brother was _laughing._

He could still see, still use his eyes, and they still felt like his eyes. The rest of him? He wasn't sure of. But his vision still felt like his own. Better, perhaps, visual problems of mortal old age were disappearing and he knew his eyesight was better than it had ever been since he'd taken on a moral life, but he still felt like his eyes were him, not some combination of himself and the parasite that was attached to him. He looked at Undertaker, those eyes wide, frantic, scared.

"I told you, there was a price to pay," Undertaker said calmly, a look of amusement on his face. "He wasn't just going to give you your power back, you knew that. But with this... costume? You are powerful, you are more than what you were! Don't look at it as a downfall, look at it as a gift!"

_A gift that renders me mute!_ His thoughts were frantic, even though he stood there, calmly, the only sign of distress in his eyes. He felt as if he was locked in with the suit, _Will this take over my brain? My thoughts? The frantic thoughts were mixed with more practical ones. Don't I still need to eat? How do I eat when I have no mouth?_

His frantic thoughts stopped at a knock on the door. He looked first at his brother, then to the door, as it opened slowly. "Mr. Kane?" a voice called out softly. "Mr. Kane?"

It was one of the interns, Risa, a pretty young girl, always friendly, always eager to please. She looked at him from the doorway, and gasped. "Oh, Mr. Kane, is that a new costume?" Then she looked over at his brother. "Mr. Undertaker, I didn't know you were here!"

Kane looked over at his brother who now looked every bit the age everyone believed him to be. Even his hair was shorter. "Hello, Risa," he said, smoothly. "Yes, it's a new costume, I brought it in for him to try it on. What do you think?"

The young woman stepped into the office fully now, walking over to the both of them, looking at the suit. "It's... kind of creepy," she admitted. "I mean, very cool, but _creepy."_ Timidly, she reached out a finger, trying to stroke him. "I've never seen-"

Before Kane could register what was happening, he had reached out and grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her close to him. "Mr. Kane!" Risa cried out, but her cries were stopped as he wrapped one hand around he neck, his fingers digging into her flesh, pulling her close, pressing his forehead into hers.

_What am I doing?_ he thought, but the thoughts were useless. Kane had no idea what he was doing, but the suit, whatever it was, knew exactly what it was doing. He could feel warmth, seeping into his fingers, seeping into all of him, satisfying something, a longing, a hunger. And whatever it was that Risa was supplying was satisfying, delicious even. _No!_

Undertaker had walked over to the door and shut it, allowing Kane and the suit to continue doing whatever it was they were doing to Risa, who struggled for only a few seconds, then was limp in his arms. Then, he walked over and put his hand on Kane's shoulder. "Enough! You don't want to kill her!"

Kane had one arm on Risa's shoulder, his other hand still wrapped around her throat, and she was completely limp, but he could feel the blood still running through her veins under his fingers, still feel her breath, shallow as it was, touching the suit. _I can feel whatever touches the suit!_

"She'll be fine," Undertaker said, sounding pleased as if Kane had managed to tame a stray dog that had approached them. "She'll wake up and will not remember what happened to her. Lay her down on the couch, brother."

Horrified, Kane scooped Risa up and put her on the couch, where she lay there, limply.

"Now you know the price," Undertaker said.

_Life force!_ Kane's mind screamed. _Whatever this is, it feeds on the life force of others!_ He was horrified. Yes, he took from Risa without killing her, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to control that. This time he had his brother, but Undertaker wouldn't always be here. What happened the next time? Or the time after that? He looked at his brother, trying to show him the fear he was feeling, the terror.

"Enjoy the new costume," Undertaker said. "You wear it well."

Then he turned and left the room.

And Kane continued to scream, stand there, screaming, but no one could hear him. The suit made sure of that.

 

The End


End file.
